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yellowkitkieran · 7 months

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To Have and to Heal (Part 13)

Masterlist

Read part 1 here

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: Single working dad Martin Odegaard is navigating the ups and downs of parenthood all on his own, and he’s struggling. That’s not to mention football, life and... love?

Last week, Martin decided it was high time you spend some quality time with Atla. Things have grown serious between yourself and Martin rather quickly and he's decided it's time for you to spend some one on one time with his daughter. And when his usual sitter called last night to say she'd come down with the flu, Martin figured there is no time like the present.

"Atla, you know how sometimes when papa is busy, uncle Kieran will watch you alllll day and you'll do all sorts of fun things like painting, watching films, and eating sweets?"

Atla grins, kicking her feet at the dining table. "Uh huh! Onkel Kieran is the best- he's my favoritest!" With her fist wrapped around her spoon, Atla shovels a bite of scrambled eggs into her mouth. Half of Martin hopes she never outgrows the odd way she holds utensils, but the other half knows she will have to. Just like she'll outgrow him helping her with her hair, helping her tie her shoes… Martin isn't looking forward to his little girl becoming her own fully functioning human being.

"Well… papa is busy today, but so is uncle Kieran." Atla frowns, her feet losing their momentum and swinging slower. "But there's someone else I think you'd enjoy spending the day with… what do you think about hanging out with Miss. Sunshine today?"

Bits of egg fly when Atla drops her spoon and gasps. "Papa! I get to see Miss. Sunshine today? Really! Is she coming here? When? What are we gonna do- I want to show her my studio!"

Martin laughs, glad to see his daughter so excited about the prospect of spending time with you. "She should be here soon, once you finish your breakfast. And all your milk! Once she's here you can show her all your artwork, I'm sure she'll love it."

"Okay- okay! I'll finish-" with two hands, Atla picks up her glass and finishes the contents. A white mustache of milk lines her upper lip, which Martin leans over the counter to wipe away with a napkin. Atla murmurs a thank you. The smile that accompanies it sparks joy in Martin's chest, lighting up his mood like fireworks on a warm summer night.

A knock on the door comes as Atla is bouncing in her seat. "You stay here," Martin says with a pointed glance at his daughter's pink butterfly plate still heaped with her breakfast. "Finish your meal or I'll send Miss. Sunshine right back home."

"I'm gonna, I promise! Don't send her home!" Martin drops a reassuring kiss to the top of Atla's head as he passes, headed straight through the sitting room for the front foyer. Knowing it's you waiting on the other side of the door has a smile unfurling on Martin's face. He reaches for you the moment it opens, one hand firmly on your waist to draw you in for a kiss.

"Hello solskin," Martin mumbles against your mouth, "missed you. Three days apart is too long."

An away game yesterday means Martin hasn't seen you since Wednesday- luckily, having played on Saturday meant you were free today. Whilst he still technically needed to attend a recovery session in an hour, his night would be mostly free.

"I missed you too Mar, but you shouldn't kiss me when Atla is right there," you whisper in a way that's meant to be reprimanding but only makes Martin want to do it again.

"Ah we're fine don't worry, she's finishing up her breakfast. We have time for one more kiss…" Martin grins, stealing another before you pull away. He loves the way you glance over his shoulder just to be double sure you're in the clear.

"I'm still not sure about this." You say that, but the way you don't hesitate to set your bag on the table next to the door and toe off your shoes says something entirely different. "You're positive this won't end badly?"

Martin bends backwards at his waist to catch a glimpse of Atla in the dining room. The toddler hums a tune to herself whilst she arranges her potatoes in a line with her fork so she can eat them one by one. Martin has never been so sure of anything in his life.

"Firstly, all Atla ever talks about on the way home from school is how much fun she had in the last few hours of her day. You know, when she's with you?"

You wring your hands, "yeah but this is different. This is a full day, like six hours of just me and Attie."

Martin kisses your forehead, "solskin, quit worrying. She's gonna have the time of her life okay? Now let's go say hello and I'll get out of your hair."

Holding your hand until he nears the dining room, Martin gives it one last squeeze before he drops it and comes around to kiss the crown of Atla's head. "Great job finishing your plate søta! And just in time because look who's here."

"Miss. Sunshine!" Atla's shriek nearly shatters Martin's eardrums, though the enthusiastic giggle that spills from her as she wraps her arms around your legs makes up for the momentary loss of hearing.

"Hi princess! You and I are gonna have so much fun today!" Atla taps her feet, her excitement too much to be contained by her little body and manifesting in physical ways. "We're gonna go to the zoo- your papa said he's not taken you there all year!"

"I wanna see the tigers-" Atla scrunches up her face in her best teeth-bearing growl "-and the lions-" now her claws come out, fingers curled "-and the fishes!" At last Atla puffs out her cheeks, imitating the cutest little fish Martin has ever seen.

Martin crouches to his daughter's level and tucks the bit of blonde hair that's sprung free from her pigtails behind her ear. His heart punches his ribs when your thumb brushes over his hand on Atla's shoulder. He prays today goes well- Martin doubts Atla will cause trouble, but toddlers are nothing if not unpredictable.

"Be good for Miss Sunshine, søta. Remember to eat your greens so you can grow big and strong. And show Miss Sunshine where papa keeps the sweets- you can have one after lunch, so choose wisely." Martin kisses both of Atla's cheeks before crushing her in a hug.

"I'll be good I promise- daddy you're gonna squeeze me too tight-" Atla wiggles and giggles until Martin finally lets go. "Bye papa! Go- shoo! Out!"

"Getting tossed out of my own home," Martin murmurs. "Luckily it's for a good cause." He catches your eye and he swears your smile could outshine a thousand stars.

Martin loves you. It's clear then, and he cannot deny it. He would cross a hundred seas or face a thousand foes to ensure you are safe and protected.

"Martin," you sing song, "we'll see you later, yeah?"

"Right, yeah-" Martin clears the gravel from his throat and has to consciously keep himself from kissing you. It's a reflex by now, as much as hugging Atla is.

"Bye Martin! We'll see you in a bit- What are we doing first Attie?"

"Color! Papa isn't fun- we need blue puppies!"

Martin pauses at the door, soaking in the moment. This could be his future. For once, Martin isn't terrified by the thought of loving someone other than his first wife- and it's a refreshing realization.

"Bye girls!" Martin calls and is pushed out the door by your and Atla's mingled shouted farewells. How can he not have a great day when he knows his two favorite girls will be waiting for him when he comes home?

**********

When Martin leaves, you're a nervous wreck. You default onto your teacher tactics, herding Atla to the dining room table for some coloring whilst you try and calm your nerves. Only a minute later, your phone buzzes in your pocket with a text from Martin.

Can't wait to see all the pictures of your adventures today. Have fun, she already loves you. Nothing to be worried about, solskin.

As simple as the reminder is, Martin's reassurance is what finally quiets the what ifs swirling in your mind. You're here to bond with Atla, and that's what you intend to do.

"First we color," you say, blue pencil poised over the print out of a long eared dog that Atla slid your way, "then a walk to the zoo? I think that's a solid plan!"

"Yes! Yes please- I'm so happy you're here." Atla drops her own pencil and quickly wraps her arms around you in a haphazard hug. Her pencil is back in her hand faster than you can blink. You smile to yourself. Things seem to be off to a decent start.

An hour later you're at the zoo, slathering sun block on Atla's face to protect her from the rare London sunshine. Even the weather wants today to be a good day for you.

"I need to see the tigers," Atla declares adamantly. Her little hands are fisted on her hips, her no nonsense expression affording you no means to negotiate.

"Well, that's a good thing those are my favorite. They're by the lions, and the leopards- the white ones with spots, and the black ones too. Can you find the tiger on the map?"

Off to the side of the walkway, you hoist Atla into your arms so she can better see the brightly colored map of the zoo posted by the entrance. Little pictures of animals dot the paths, along with their scientific names beneath each one. Atla takes her time, studying the map until finally she points to the correct spot.

"There! We have to take pictures- papa loves tigers!"

Atla allows no pit stops along the way, dragging you towards the exhibit with surprising strength. You have to correct her once or twice when she gets turned around, but overall she does a decent job of navigating using the child-height signs along the way, designed to guide independent little ones.

"They're out- look Miss Sunshine! Look!" Atla tugs hard at your hand, dragging you towards the glass wall of the exhibit that allows you to safely view the animals beyond. Sleeping against the glass lays a tiger, it's black and orange striped fur warmed by the sun.

"Be quiet, it's sleeping." You let go of Atla's hand so she can climb onto the stone ledge next to the glass. She gasps when she sees the animal's face, mesmerized by it's size.

"It's so pretty," Atla murmurs, immediately smushing her face to the glass. "Papa loves them- he loves tigers. He's so close! I wanna pet him!"

The tiger stirs and Atla jolts backwards. You catch her before she falls, suppressing your laugh. "It's okay, he can't get you from out here. He's just a big lazy kitty anyway- see? His eyes are open, he just wants to look at you."

"Oh…" Regaining her courage, Atla puts her palms on the glass and stands up. She doesn't flinch this time when the tiger yawns, stretching it's substantial limbs. It's curved, pointed claws peek out from his toes, and Atla whips around to confirm that you're watching. When you nod, her attention returns to the beast at her feet. It's amber eyes bore into her own, curious but not malicious. It truly is a gorgeous animal- strong, fierce, and protective.

Sort of like Martin, when you think about it. It takes considerable strength to captain a team as successful as Arsenal, and to do so without backing down at the first signs of trouble. Martin is fierce on and off the pitch, unwilling to bend when things get difficult. And protective? You cannot think of a single word that fits Martin more aptly.

"Let's take some photos for papa," you suggest. Atla happily takes your phone and snaps some, including one of herself and you, the tiger barely visible in the background thanks to the odd angle. Regardless, you know it'll be Martin's new favorite.

**********

Atla is almost asleep, be quiet when you come in please.

Luckily, Martin sees your warning as he pulls into the drive. His joints creak as he climbs the handful of steps to the door. Today was grueling. Martin wants to inhale a sugar-free coke and the rest of the grilled chicken he knows is waiting for him in the fridge. Then, he wants to get Atla up to bed (preferably under her own power, considering how his calves are already screaming at him), and settle in for a sappy film on the sofa with your feet in his lap.

Martin finds you already in his spot, parked in front of the television with Atla's head resting on your knee. A touch to your shoulder ensures you don't startle upon Martin's near silent approach, a warning before he leans over the back of the sofa to confirm Atla's eyes are shut.

Satisfied his daughter is asleep, Martin curls a finger under your chin. He uses it to tip your head back, studying your upside down smile and your sleepy eyes before he places a soft kiss on your pillowy lips. Even the simple gesture scatters sparks over his skin.

"Hi," you murmur, the single word steeped in flowered affection. "Tough day?" A moan sits on the tip of Martin's tongue when you reach around and massage your fingertips against his shoulder blade, right where he's most sore.

Martin hums, his face now buried in your neck. "Long day. You tired her out, I see."

"We had a packed day. Get her up to bed and then you can tell me all about yours. How's that sound?"

"Utmerket- perfect," Martin corrects himself when you quirk a brow at his norwegian. "Atlaaa," Martin drags out the 'A' until she stirs, "la oss gå til sengs."

"Jeg vil ikke," Atla whines and buries herself further under the blanket. "Jeg sover her."

"You can't sleep her søta," Martin murmurs, ignoring the burn in his muscles when he scoops his daughter into his arms. "Papa will take you upstairs to your room… you don't want Ty and Bernie and Liz to sleep all alone do you?"

Atla shakes her head, rubbing her eyes. "No- I'll go to bed…"

Martin smiles, climbing the carpeted stairs to the second level to deposit Atla in her bed. He goes through his nightly ritual, tucking her in under her fluffy pink comforter and arranging her squishmallows exactly how she likes it. It's Ty's night to cuddle so Martin tucks the brown dog in Atla's arms. Her soft coo of approval is music to Martin's ears.

"Goodnight Attie, jeg elsker deg."

Atla only manages a wordless mumble in response. Martin flicks on her mushroom shaped night light and carefully slips out. As much as he wants to sprint into your arms, Martin knows he still carries the stink of sweat from training despite his rushed shower at the grounds so he heads off for a second one, scrubbing himself down thoroughly.

Once he's satisfied he smells pleasant, he throws on the first pair of shorts he can find. He nearly trips on the bottom step in his haste to throw himself at you, grinning as he launches himself onto the sofa where you're waiting with open arms.

"Oof- babe! Warn me before you do that… I need compensation for the elbow I just caught to my ribs!"

Martin immediately soothes his hand over your side and pecks your lips. "Does that count? I missed you- did you and Atla have fun today? Did she behave?"

"One question at a time babe… yes, that kiss makes up for it." Your fingers thread in Martin's hair, guiding his head to rest on your chest. "Yes, Atla and I had fun today, I have plenty of photos to show you. She loved seeing the tigers, said they reminded her of you." When your nails scratch at his scalp, Martin's eyes begin to close. "And yes, Atla was an angel. She ate all her greens, just like you told her to. And now you need to eat yours." You nod to the coffee table, to a bowl Martin hadn't noticed earlier.

Martin has never been so happy to see a salad in his entire life. You must have prepared it while he was in the shower, and he happily sits up to dig in. He tries to savor it, but his stomach is a bottomless pit and he devours his meal in minutes.

"Thank you. That was delicious." Martin brings you in for a kiss, deepening it for a split second to ensure you understand how appreciative it is. "You didn't- oh!"

When you grab the front of Martin's shirt and haul him towards you, he doesn't hesitate to kiss you again. He knows what you want, so he gives it to you. Your fingers glide over his chest while his tangle in your hair. He bites your lower lip and is rewarded with a surprised groan. He's wholly lost in you then, hypnotized by your sounds and transfixed by your hands on him.

"Papa?"

Atla's voice rips the world from under Martin's feet. Dread cuts through the passion as the two of you jolt apart. Fuck.

"Atla," Martin murmurs, frantically trying to straighten his shirt while you pat down your mussed hair. Martin clears his throat, trying to tamp down on his wild heartbeat.

"Why were you kissing Miss. Sunshine? You're only supposed to kiss mama."

This isn't how Atla was meant to find out. Martin had a plan, he was going to tell her gently, let her have a chance to process everything and ask questions. Springing his relationship on Atla like this… Martin's stomach churns.

"Miss. Sunshine is…" Martin glances over at you. From where Atla stands, she cannot see Martin take your hand. He needs the support now more than ever. "She's my special friend."

"You're not supposed to kiss your friends like that papa." God, Martin might actually be sick. He hates everything about this.

"No, you're right Attie- but Miss. Sunshine…"

"What about mama?" Atla blinks and Martin finally notices the tears in her eyes. He's up off the sofa in a second, reaching for her as his instincts take over.

Martin cradles Atla's tear streaked face, "Mama is gone, søta. Remember how we talked about her being in the sky-"

"You're only supposed to kiss mama!" Atla stomps her foot. Her teddy falls to the ground and rolls a few feet away. Martin tries to hand it back, hoping she'll find comfort in the familiarity, but she pushes him away. "No! You're lying- mama is coming back! She's just away for a while!"

"Atla…"

"You're a liar! Løgner, løgner, løgner-"

"Atla please!" Martin doesn't like raising his voice with Atla, but he's desperate. "Mama isn't coming back, she's gone forever and I'm sorry but-"

"No! She's stealing you from me and mama!"

"I should go," you murmur, and Martin's panic doubles. "I don't want to be the reason-"

No. No. Martin isn't losing you, not like this.

"Atla, go to your room."

"Papa-"

"Now!"

Atla blinks, her lip wobbling. Martin hates himself. His daughter rips her stuffie from his hands and tears his heart from his chest when she scrambles up the stairs and slams the door to her room.

"I need to leave. I shouldn't-"

"Please stay." Martin grabs your wrist, not caring that he's acting every bit the desperate child he feels he is inside. "Please don't- solskin please. I just need to talk to her-"

"Martin, I'm not coming between you and your daughter. End of story." Martin's heart cracks open when you peel his fingers off one by one until his hand hangs at his side, limp and empty. You wrap your arms around yourself to find some sort of comfort. "I won't break up your family. I won't be the woman who comes in and wrecks things, I just won't."

"Maria is gone," Martin croaks. He ignores the way his voice jumps an octave at the end. He needs you to stay. He's just gotten himself to admit he loves you, and now this?

"Yes, but her memory isn't. Clearly Atla doesn't understand what's happened, and that's not on you- she's a child, it's not easy for her to understand. But…"

You trail off, blinking back tears. Martin wants to soothe you. He wants to curl up on the sofa with you, comb his fingers through your hair and promise everything will be alright. But he cannot do any of that, because you're pulling away from him. You're putting up walls, bricking up your heart faster than he can tear them away. It won't stop him from trying though. He'll pry away the bricks until his fingers are bloody and his nails are broken stubs; he needs you now, and he cannot let you slip away.

Except…

Except.

Atla. His blood. The one piece of Maria he still has left. If she doesn't approve, Martin is stuck.

Martin can't betray his daughter. But if he can only speak with her, he is certain he can explain things. Once she understands, then Martin can settle this mess and everything will be okay.

"I'll speak to Atla in the morning." Martin's mumble breaks the silence with the grace of a rock thrown through the surface of a frozen lake. Martin's limbs tingle, like they sometimes do after a workout. His fingers open and close around nothing at his side. He can't bring himself to look at you, not when his entire world is shifting.

"Don't. Clearly this isn't meant to be Mar. I'm sorry… I wish it was."

Martin's entire body recoils when your lips meet his cheek. The split second contact burns like a brand of a love that was squashed before it had the chance to bloom into something beautiful.

"Goodbye, Martin. I'll see you on Wednesday."

"See you Wednesday." It's his voice, Martin recognizes it, but it feels as if it does not come from his mouth. Of course he'll see you Wednesday, because he won't send someone else to pick up Atla. He doesn't trust anyone else.

So Martin will do what he has always done: he will endure. He will fight through the now all too familiar agony of heart break and put on a brave face for his daughter. He will be the man who's only goal is to provide for his family, who wakes up each and every morning solely to put a smile on Atla's face.

Once upon a time, Martin thought that was enough of a purpose. Now, as you walk out the door, he isn't so positive anymore. Martin is meant to love- but apparently he isn't meant to be loved in return.

#sorry?#martin odegaard fanfiction #martin Ødegaard #martin odegaard imagine #martin odegaard #martin odegaard fanfic #martin odegaard oneshot #arsenal fc #jac writes #alt timeline lover

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reyturnofbensolo · 6 months

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While I do love the movie…I would’ve loved to have seen it go a bit MORE RAIMI as well(Undead Strange should’ve been the main character thru the entire thing🤣)! Xochitl Gomez said that MARVEL had Michael Waldron rewrite the story countless times so I wish there had been more of a connection/communication with Jac Schaeffer and the writers of Wandavision. Those 2 things would’ve made it a better film(oh wait…3 things…also a better ending for Wanda)!!!

#scarlet witch #wanda maximoff #elizabeth olsen #doctor strange in the multiverse of madness #sam raimi #evil dead #jac schaeffer #wandavision #the writing on those 1st disney + shows is far superior to the movies that followed them…

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just-a-tiny-bun · 6 months

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Promptober day 24: Glimpse

Promptober day 25: Mystery

Promptober day 26: Shade

They say that evil spirits are restless in these woods. They stalk travelers in the night, waiting for the right opportunity to drain the very life essence from their bodies. Such tales must have a rational explanation- right? Yet when these campers came to investigate these so-called haunted lands, they catch a glimpse of strange fairy-like lights that disappear in the blink of an eye... as well as feel a much more sinister presence that follow their every move. Could they be connected?

This time I decided to pull from a old AU where Jac and Richard are ghost-like fairies that live deep inside a monstrous forest. Those unlucky enough to venture too deep into their territory will be met with a barrage of illusions that are meant to scare off intruders. For if humans linger too long, these very woods will likely claim them for itself.

You can read the old story that this is a follow up to here

#fairy art #fairy #halloween art #gt #giant tiny #size difference #sfw g/t #gt art #oc: jac #oc: richard #oc: aiden #oc: jillian #art prompts #bun does art #promptober 2023 #originally wanted to make glimpse into a writing one shot but ultimately didn't have time for it #maybe I'll revisit this concept in the future #we'll see

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jack-kellys · 10 months

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omg omg javid (im gunning for hurt davey (typical) but either is fine)

"Don't look at them, look at me."

“How long did you think you could hide that?”

- @we-are-inevitable ✨

give me a prompt and i'll write something!!

hiya jac <3 this is a bit long winded but I got there

~~~

Davey had gone back to school. And that was fine.

Jack felt that ‘fine’ was a good word for it. He sold on the weekends still, and so did Les sometimes. Jack would see them after school during the week to catch up, bring them to the lodge or around the city to see their other friends, since Jack certainly wasn’t Davey’s only friend and neither was he Les’s sole role model (for better or for worse). The best and worst trips were to Brooklyn, when they’d get to spend all that time walking and talking and laughing, absorbed in each other, only for Spot to just as easily enrapture both Jacobs brothers the moment she came into view on the other side of the bridge. Jack was shiny and flimsy compared to the layers of rock the two had to dig through to learn new things about Spot, he knew that, so he’d add his two cents and wait around for the walk back to Manhattan.

When they did go over to Spot’s, she’d give Jack this look. She’d tilt her head, narrow her eyes, asking something that Jack couldn’t decode. Race would do it too, which was mildly infuriating, but when Crutchie ever did it, it made Jack feel like a fool, like he was missing something that everyone else knew.

And Davey would simply be continuing on with whatever he was talking about, never commenting or noticing.

It was Sunday, and Davey would be back at school tomorrow.

“It’s strange when I talk about working in class,” Davey was saying. Jack had convinced him to grab dinner with him, and then convinced him to let Jack walk him home. “They, uh.. well, they admire it, with a kind of distance.”

“That good or bad?” Jack frowned. “A step up or down from how it’d been?”

Davey shrugged, hazel gaze set ahead of them and shaded by the sun at their backs.

“Straddling some kind of middle,” was his answer. “It’s nicer that people know my name, you know, but it ain’t as nice when I don’t feel like a student to them.”

Jack must’ve been wearing some kind of confused pout, since Davey only rolled his eyes and continued with a small smile.

“It’s- they don’t think I should be there,” he murmured. “Like they think that since I ‘got work over the summer’, I should only be workin’ now. Not really a kid to them, I’m this employed worker doin’ jobs on the weekends.”

“Ain’t that the better thing to be?” Jack asked. Davey scoffed. “No, really, ain’t it? More independent, more- more like you make your own decisions. You don’t gotta work on the weekends, you just wanna, for your family. That’s better than doing nothing.”

“Not to your average schooled seventeen year old,” Davey chuckled. “Kids either look up to it and isolate me as- as an adult, kind of, or look down on it and think I should be removed.”

Jack’s eyebrows furrowed. Davey was busying himself every single day of the week, doing homework and teaching through Hebrew lessons to Les and selling tons more papers than he used to. He was taking care of his family, doing all he could for them while still finding time for his friends. And Davey was still smart and on top of it despite it all. Maybe picking one of the two, working or schooling, would make Davey’s life easier, but Davey didn’t want that, he was dedicated to everything he loved. In Jack’s mind, a kid would have to be some kind of idiot not to admire the hell out of David Jacobs. Jack admired him, he had since- for…a while now, he supposed.

“Well,” Jack muttered, instead of all that was going through his head, “that’s real stupid of ‘em, man.”

Davey laughed, nose crinkling, and Jack’s insides felt as if they were tinged with rose.

“Yeah, the day I say that out loud is the day I skip class,” Davey said, “forcibly.”

“Oh, you can take ‘em,” Jack brushed off, nudging his friend’s shoulder with his own. “Buncha schoolboys? Davey.”

“For your information, I am a schoolboy,” Davey shrugged matter-of-factly. “And if I do, as you’re saying, ‘take them’, that’s another way for me to skip class forcibly. Education like this in Manhattan’s too new, I mean- if they think a kid’s a source of trouble, they’re out. Plenty’ll want to take my place.”

“Then maybe you can point ‘em out to me and I can…meet them?” Jack smiled.

“No, Jack.” Davey shook his head, glancing over at him with an amused glimmer to his gaze. “I’m quite alright, thank you.”

“Have it your way.”

They nearly stumbled upon Davey’s neighborhood, Jack so wrapped up in conversation he’d hardly noticed they had to split off. He leaned back against the wall of the building.

“Sure we can’t hang a little longer?” Jack tried, grinning. “Ain’t like you’re gonna miss a meal or anything, we can just walk around the block…”

Davey’s raised eyebrows stopped him from continuing, letting out a small chuckle instead.

“Right,” Jack sighed. Davey was rather strict about his personal curfew, less out of fear and more in the name of dedication. “When’ll I see you next, you got- you got anything goin’ on after classes in a couple days?”

“Couple days sounds good, Jackie,” Davey hummed. Perfect.

“You gonna miss me?” Jack teased.

And Davey fixed him with this look.

The taller boy tilted his head, narrowed his shimmery gaze, and smiled like the sun.

“I’ll miss you, Jackie,” he said. “See you then.”

‘Then’ felt like an annoyingly long time to Jack, which was new. Initially when Davey first went back to school, it was seamless– Jack hung out more with his own boys, began prep for the fall temperatures, started up on drafting cartoons based on the political jokes he was sent. Sometimes Katherine would come by and they’d come up with their own based on her wider knowledge of that world. Enough weeks of it went by, though, and Jack found himself wanting to talk to someone who wasn’t there, stifling certain jokes or conversations for days before bursting it all out at Davey. It was a relief when Davey did the same, and they’d be in their own world for a few sacred hours.

These days, the hours in between felt stretched, Jack felt stretched, and the only solution to put him back together was getting his time with Davey.

This was perhaps the one time he wished ‘then’ hadn’t been sooner than they’d planned.

Jack had made every effort to sell all his papers before three in the afternoon, since school let out around 2:15. Sometimes he caught Davey leaving the building, and he was able to walk him home. He hung by the school, gaze busy with scanning for cops or friends or staring adults. His heart started to sink as the school seemed to empty out, though- he probably missed him, or maybe he’d left through a different door.

Wasn’t like Jack had anything to do until the evening edition came out.

Carefully, he strolled around the corner, biting his lip and for once trying to make himself look a bit smaller. He wasn’t as comfortable in this part of this neighborhood; didn’t feel like his turf, his home. His palms were itching with the feeling of it, but his turn to head back was halted with a sound he knew much too well.

A pained grunt followed what had to be a fist to the face, and against his better judgment, Jack swiftly followed it.

“Davey!”

Two boys crowded Jack’s friend, whose nose was bleeding and one of his eyes half shut, and who was not fighting back. The boys booked it around the school when they saw Jack, and he immediately sprang into action to pursue them. No one was going to smack Davey around and just get away with it.

“Jack. Don’t.”

Jack’s footsteps faltered, stopping and kneeling in front of Davey, who’d sunk to the ground.

“Hey, it’s okay, Dee, I’ll be right back,” Jack said quickly, about to stand. A hand fisting into his collar tugged him back.

“Don’t look at them,” Davey urged softly, and Jack’s eyes found his, “just at me. Just stay with me, Jack.”

“But Davey, they can’t just-”

“They didn’t. I let them,” Davey said. It only made Jack’s blood burn hotter.

“Why?” he demanded. “Davey, you don’t let people do that to you, I know you don’t.”

Davey wiped under his nose, frowning. Without a thought, Jack removed his kerchief from around his neck, handing it to the other to clean himself off.

“I didn’t want to 'forcibly skip class',” he said, giving Jack a hollow half-smile before wiping blood from his lip. “I knew those boys. Their word matters more than mine, and if I fought back…” Davey shook his head, watching his feet with his gaze set in stone. “School’s important to me, Jack. I ain’t gonna do anything to compromise my chances here, if I can help it.”

Jack’s eyebrows raised, lips parting slightly. Impressed, as usual, but this surpassed the normal level of admiration- he wasn’t sure what to call it.

“Wow,” was all he could say, laughing slightly. “You got a backbone of steel, Jacobs. Christ.”

Davey laughed too, curling in on himself a bit as he hunched with a cough, and Jack found his hands hovering above Davey’s shoulders. Twitching slightly as he wracked his brain for the appropriate method of comfort.

His brain didn’t move fast enough, and now Davey was looking at him.

Head tilted, eyes narrowed- narrowed as they could be without closing. Gaze amused. God dammit.

“What?” Jack huffed out. “I’m so damn sick of that look, Dee, I get it from everyone, like I’m the butt of some joke.”

Davey laughed again. Maybe he was.

“Jackie, isn’t it obvious?”

He felt his face heat up, because no, clearly, it wasn’t.

“I don’t like when you make me feel stupid, Dave,” Jack mumbled. “Just get to it, will you?”

Davey’s eyes scanned their surroundings, and Jack lifted his own gaze to follow it before he was tugged forward and into Davey’s lips.

Jack’s eyes closed, and he saw every instance he’d received some look from his friends.

Maybe he had been listening too intently in Brooklyn, enraptured with Davey’s words, his voice, his mouth, which had made Spot stare at him. Maybe he’d laughed too hard at one of Davey’s comebacks during a game of cards, and Racer had given him a sly smirk for that. And maybe talking to Crutchie about Davey was more at length than he’d thought, since C had always given him that damned smug look once Jack was done…gushing, probably.

Oh, Christ. It was obvious, wasn’t it.

Jack pulled back slowly, hand finding Davey’s vest as he opened his eyes again. Davey was smiling, eyes narrowed, and Jack smiled too.

“You like me too, right?” Jack teased, and finally, it was Davey’s turn to blush.

“Let’s just get to the lodge,” he said instead, pushing himself up with Jack’s help. Davey leaned into him, and Jack shifted his arm comfortably around Davey’s waist as they started their way back. He glanced down at Jack’s hand before their gazes met.

They shared a look, and smiled.

#IDK IDK :( they r very nice #thanks jac!! love me some javeyy #newsies #newsies fic #newsies fanfic #javey #javid #jack kelly #davey jacobs #and i did hurt davey !! i normally do not so <3 #fizz answers #fizz writes #fizz freaks #TIL that manhattan didnt have public schools until like 1897 or something #****public school for high school i mean!!!#bc it was legit a diff city than brooklyn of which had public schools like for a decade longer & separately #newsies fics

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piedoesnotequalpi · 4 months

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for the au game: 18, 7, 8!

- @we-are-inevitable ✨

Thanks for sending this! I decided to try out writing an actual drabble (100 words exactly), which meant the answer turned out a little awkward at times. Enjoy!

Celebrity AU/childhood friends/"Wait, wait. Say that again. Please."

“You left!” David shouted. “You left, and I didn’t hear from you for years and now—”

Jack stared at the ground, clearly embarrassed. “Yeah,” he breathed. “I know.”

“I know?” David repeated. “You’re too busy with your—your coffee table book signings and—we missed you! I missed you!”

“I know,” Jack repeated again. “I didn’t say anything, because I knew you’d be angry, and it’s—I loved you too much to live in a world where you hated me.”

What the fuck? “Wait,” David said. “Wait. Say that again.” Jack stayed silent. “Please.”

“I loved—I love you.”

#asks #ask game #jac :)#javid #my writing #isabel.tex #happy new year y'all!#i'm too tired to answer the rest of these tonight #sorry y'all

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therenlover · 7 months

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I hope readers realize that kind comments, even just short and simple ones saying they liked what they read, are like magic inspiration dust to a lot of fanfic writers and can really make a big, positive impact on our days. For example, I got my first comment on Ao3 since I started posting again today after a really shitty shift at work, and it fr made me smile so hard and immediately start writing for the day because I was so excited that someone actually liked the thing I wrote! And took the time to let me know!!!! I honestly forgot about how much of an asshole my boss was today because I was so excited. I've heard this same story from other writers dozens of times. That's the type of difference a comment can, and often does, make.

I as a writer am not entitled to anyones likes or kudos or comments or views. If nobody liked or commented on my stuff I'd still post. For the most part I share what I write because I love the sense of community it brings with other writers/reader/online people, and tbh it would make me feel kinda pathetic if I wrote reader insert fanfiction only for myself. That being said, there's nothing better in the world than hearing I am good enough, and appreciated, and seen.

So, readers, leave a comment on a fic you loved today! Let the author know their writing is seen and appreciated. Take a minute to make them smile (or cry) the same way you did when you read their work! You genuinely don't know how much it can mean. And it's free!

(Important side note, but even if it can be motivating pls don't think a comment means you're entitled to more of the authors work. People should comment because they enjoyed something and not because they think their comment will make the author write more faster, though it might surprise you the difference a comment can make in a writers motivation. It's the difference between being told "that thing you spent endless hours on was amazing" and being told "that was amazing BUT you need to make more of what you made right now because nobody is satisfied with what you poured your heart into already", if that makes sense. I don't mind comments asking for more, personally, but I know a lot of authors that do, so I thought it was worth mentioning)

To all my authors, especially those who don't feel seen, I see you and I love you <3 keep on keeping on, even if your WIP takes 3 months to post and you feel like nobody liked it. I promise at least one person did. You're loved and appreciated and provide a vital service to internet dwellers such as myself. People in the world would be a little emptier without the warmth from the worlds you create.

#jac rambles #kindness can make such a difference #to whoever wrote that comment thank you for changing the course of my day #and to everyone who has interacted with me in the past few weeks you've been amazing #i am staving off the seasonal depression with your kind words #writing #ao3 #I know this sounds really sad and pathetic but tbh that's on brand

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moth-based-cryptology · 1 year

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last sentence tag game

tagged by: @lailuhhh

Rules: Write the latest line from your wip (or post where you last left off in your art) and tag as many people as there are words in the line. Make a new post, don’t reblog.

It takes until Race is sitting up sharply on the couch, the warm, dark hands of his older brother tight around his wrists, to realize that the person screaming is him. He breathes harshly, rough in and out of his spasming lungs, throat raw from all the noise he was making. His face is wet with tears, he realizes.

Albert’s laugh is still echoing in his ears.

tagging:

@we-are-inevitable @roideny @jack-kellys @enter-plot-holes-here

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thefactsofthematter · 1 year

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u asked and i will deliver. if u want to write this feel free to change literally anything but

model davey! he graduated college with honors, has a degree in poli sci, and was literally about to go to law school before being signed to a modeling agency- thus starting a turbulent relationship with his family. he starts doing runways and soon moves into print works and even in his short time of modeling he’s become a frequent in some of the most well-known fashion magazines. this is great, this is amazing- but it has an impact on his mental health that he wasn’t ready for.

enter jack kelly, the makeup artist that somehow always seems to work with davey; jack is known for his bold editorial looks and impeccable work, yet he has quite the image in the industry. he’s stubborn, he’s unorthodox, he’s got quite the temper, but his work speaks for itself. jack is the guy who never wears makeup to shoots, he never dresses up unless it’s something important, he’s got piercings and tattoos and a list of bad habits following him wherever he goes.

anyway blah blah they fall in love they indulge in bad habits and reckless things they get better and boom they’re everyone’s favorite powerhouse couple!!!

ohohohoho JAC!!! i’m obsessed!!! god a model au just tickles my brain the perfect way and this is everything @we-are-inevitable

here’s a fun (or possibly fucked up? idk those are synonyms to me sometimes) little one shot! tw for some mentions of disordered eating - as one might expect from a model au

David Jacobs is a nice person.

For all twenty-three years of his life so far, he’s told himself that. It’s been mostly true— he’s never had much of a temper, he treats people with empathy and kindness, and he’s never been demanding or high-strung. He’s normally a pretty chill person who’s easy to please, and who genuinely likes to help people and make them happy.

Nothing about the past year has been normal, though, and he’s starting to realize it might be messing with him a little. Just a few weeks ago, parents were bitching about how much he’s changed, and he thought it was bullshit… until he suddenly catches himself storming away from his personal assistant (which he has now, by the way,) after shouting:

“Just stop talking and figure it out yourself! Can you fuck off and leave me alone for two fucking seconds? Oh my god.”

And then he’s off, out the back door of the set, to sit on the fire escape and try to cool down. He knows he’s being an asshole, but he’s at the end of his rope— he hasn’t eaten an actual meal in three days, there’s makeup caked all over his face and too much product in his hair, he’s sick of people touching him and telling him what to do, and fucking Romeo won’t stop reminding him how busy he is by asking stupid questions about his jam-packed schedule for the next few days. He has a runway show tonight that’ll go to at least midnight, and a 5 AM call time for a shoot tomorrow, and then an afternoon flight to Paris— he doesn’t care which of the two hotels Romeo booked he actually stays at, because they’re both five stars anyways, so it shouldn’t be this much of a hassle to pick one and cancel the other, and it’s something that should be able to get taken care of without needing to bother him about it.

He instinctively goes to rub at his eyes once he’s outside, but he freezes when he hears:

“If you fuck up your makeup, I’m not fixing it for you. I hope you’re done shooting in there.”

His head snaps to the side, and he sees none other than Jack Kelly.

He’s leaning against the wall, with half of a foil-wrapped bodega breakfast sandwich in one hand and a coffee in the other, obviously on a break. He’s still wearing his makeup-stained apron over his clothes— comfy-looking joggers and a t-shirt that shows off his tattoo-covered arms— and he’s got a Givenchy beanie perched almost precariously high on his head. He doesn’t seem pissed, mostly amused, but Davey has heard rumours about his allegedly quick temper; fucking up his work would be a good way to get on his bad side.

“Sorry,” Davey sighs. He folds his arms over his chest to keep his hands away from his face. “I think I’m done— they might want more shots once they look at what we’ve got, though. I don’t know. I have to get out of here soon for a fitting uptown either way.”

It was Jack who applied the fancy, editorial eye makeup that Davey nearly ruined— his apprentice does the base layers of foundation and whatnot, but it’s Jack’s artistic vision and skill that people pay for when they book him for stuff like this, so he does the important parts himself. He takes his sweet time, snapping at people when they try to rush him, which is why Davey spent over an hour in the makeup chair this morning.

It’s probably the tenth or-so time Jack has done his makeup, but they’ve barely ever conversed, both of them too busy being pulled in a million different directions by everyone else on set.

“Busy day, huh?” Jack chuckles. His nose crinkles a little when he laughs, and it makes his septum piercing wiggle. He takes a bite of his sandwich and then talks as he chews. “What were you yelling about in there?”

Davey very nearly rolls his eyes.

“Nothing,” he mutters. “It’d just be nice if my assistant would fucking assist me sometimes, instead of asking me a million questions about every stupid little thing. He drives me insane, I swear.”

Jack quirks an eyebrow.

“Fire him, then.” He shrugs. “You’d have to start calling your own Ubers and picking up your own coffees, though… might be tough.”

Davey is pretty sure he’s joking, but he does have a point— Romeo takes care of a lot of the day-to-day shit that Davey himself doesn’t have time for anymore, everything from posting on his social media to ordering his groceries. He does a lot more than anyone gives him credit for.

“I’m not gonna fire him. He’s a good kid,” Davey sighs. “I’m just… pissed off right now. I needed to get outside and breathe for a minute.”

Jack finishes his sandwich, crumpling up the foil and shoving it into a pocket of his apron. He then reaches into a different pocket and procures a joint and a lighter.

“Here.” He holds them out to Davey. “Chill out a little.”

Davey blinks, staring more at Jack’s tattooed fingers than what’s held between them, and then quickly shakes his head.

“Sorry, no. I don’t smoke.”

Jack laughs.

“You’re a model, and you don’t smoke?” he teases. “That’s funny, tell another one.”

Maybe it was a good thing he hasn’t talked much to Jack before— he’s really fucking annoying.

“Fine, only cigarettes,” Davey ultimately concedes. “I’m not into weed.”

Jack shrugs and lights the joint, taking it to his own lips for a puff.

“Suit yourself.”

It’s quiet for a second as Jack exhales the smoke. He’s a real picture of effortless beauty— he’s obviously not thinking about his appearance right now, but there’s something almost untouchable about how casually gorgeous he is.

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” Davey ends up adding, “but I get so hungry when I’m high. I’m on a diet right now, so I can’t do that to myself.”

Jack shakes his head.

“Models… maybe that’s why you guys are brats. You’re hangry all the time.”

“Hangry?”

“You know, hungry and angry. You get all irritable because your agent convinced you a human can survive on, like, three almonds a day, when any sane person knows that’s bullshit.”

Davey’s stomach grumbles annoyingly, as if on cue. He’s not even that hungry. He already had a coffee this morning anyways, which should’ve been enough to get him through to dinner time.

“You’re kind of a dick,” Davey remarks. He wouldn’t typically be so blunt, but his bad mood is making him lose his filter. “What’s your deal?”

Jack shrugs.

“I’m tired. People think I’m an asshole for trying to take my time and do my job right, but when I rush it and cut corners to keep people happy, they get pissed that it doesn’t look good. There’s no winning, and it’s fucking exhausting.” He takes another puff of the joint. “Pays the bills, though.”

Davey rolls his eyes.

“That hat you’re wearing retails for, like, five hundred dollars. I think it pays more than your bills.”

Jack laughs, and it’s not that cynical chuckle from before. He actually smiles, caught off guard by the remark.

“Fair point. In my defence, I got the hat for free from a photoshoot. Another perk, I guess.”

Davey finds himself smiling too.

“How long have you been doing makeup?”

“I’ve been playing with it forever,” Jack replies, “but professionally, about five years. How long have you been in the game?”

“Almost a year.” Davey pauses. “I was in school— I actually finished undergrad and got into law— but it wasn’t right. I got scouted in August, and thought fuck it, I might as well try. It worked out pretty well, I’d say.”

Jack eyes him sort of curiously.

“You gave up law school for this?”

“Got out of going to law school, more like. I didn’t want to do it.” Davey shrugs. “It was more my parents’ thing. I wasn’t that interested.”

Jack blows a ring of smoke, almost absentmindedly.

“How do they feel about your career change?”

Davey shakes his head.

“I haven’t talked to them in, like, a month, if that tells you anything.”

“Damn.” Jack offers the joint to Davey again. “You sure you don’t want some?”

A pause.

“Fuck, I guess a couple hits couldn’t hurt.”

Jack grins and passes it over.

“I knew it.”

Davey silently takes a breath of smoke. It’s been forever since he’s indulged this way, and it feels good. He coughs a little on the first hit, but his head almost immediately feels clearer, so he goes for another.

“Feel better?” Jack asks, after a long moment.

“Yeah,” Davey breathes. “Thank you.”

He passes the joint back to Jack, who stubs it out on the railing— there’s just enough left that he could relight it for a few more puffs later, once this little buzz wears off.

“We should hang out sometime,” Jack offers. “I’d like to get to know you, Jacobs.” He pauses. “Any relation to Marc?”

“Nope. I walked for him in the spring, though.” Davey laughs softly. “You’re right, we should hang out. I’m going to Paris tomorrow, but I’ll be back in two weeks— let’s plan for then.”

Jack picks his coffee up from where he set it on the windowsill.

“I’ll bring the weed, if you bring home some cool European snacks for us to try.”

Smoking and snacking are both habits that Davey should be trying to avoid— but god, would it ever feel good to unwind when he gets home from this work trip. Maybe he deserves a night to relax with a new friend.

“Sounds good to me,” he replies, against his better judgement. “I should go, but I’ll DM you, okay?”

“Perfect,” Jack says. He waves as Davey turns to head inside. “Have a great trip. Take it easy on your poor assistant, okay?”

Davey laughs.

“Will do. I swear I don’t normally yell at people like that. Just… running low on patience today, y’know?”

That’s a stretch— he runs low on patience pretty often these days, and Romeo tends to take the brunt of it, but Davey pays him to deal with it, so he doesn’t feel that bad about it. When you’re a star, there’s certain things you can get away with: Davey’s occasional bitch fits are no worse than Jack’s famous temper tantrums. When you’re at the top, who’s going to give you shit about it?

“Oh, I know.” Jack winks. “I think we’ve got a lot in common, Dave.”

Davey smiles coyly over his shoulder as he heads back inside. He knows he looks good— he revels a little in the way Jack’s gaze stays glued to him. Maybe he’s admiring his own work, but maybe he’s admiring the canvas underneath it.

“I think you might be right. See you around, Kelly.”

And then he’s immediately being hurried back into a makeup chair so someone can clean his face, in order for him to be whisked off to the fitting that he’s already late for— at this point, people know better than to expect him to be on time.

Again, he’s a star, he does what he wants.

If he wants to waste time smoking outside with Jack Kelly, nobody’s going to stop him. Maybe he’ll make a habit out of it.

#in which davey is a bitch and jack is an asshole and they just work.#they are deeply unpleasant bc of their respective mental health issues that they refuse to deal with and now they enable each other teehee #poor romeo lol #idk why i picked him when i could’ve picked any newsie it just felt right #jack kelly #davey jacobs #javid #model au #my writing #i hope this is the vibe you were going for!!! ily jac!!

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ink--scratch · 1 year

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moments of community: offering someone your cart in the parking lot so they don't have to worry about grabbing one themselves. saying "i love your hair!" to a cashier as you're walking away from the counter. helping someone pick up their things when they trip. bus stop conversations with strangers as you talk about how nice the weather is, how beautiful the trees look in the sunlight, how you’ve seen them around campus and oh my god your makeup is so beautiful what eyeliner do you use? those thank you’s echoed to the bus drivers, the notes scrawled in sharpie on bathroom walls saying not to give up, tipping carhops more than what your meal ended up costing. community is the thumb that wipes away our tears after a bad night. telling a dog how handsome he looks, petting a street cat on your evening walk, sending your friends links to tiktoks that remind you of their writing, their fantasies, their love languages, how they make you feel so they know the impact they make in your life. how it feels to give someone a hair tie, so you always keep some on you even when your hair is too short to use them. sharing headphones while waiting. leaning foreheads against shoulders when standing in line. community is the vein connecting us to the earth. notes and decorations on apartment doors to spread joy, to have fun, to strike conversation. gathering in a crowd when the preacher comes to campus to bash those you love, proposing to strangers with fake rings, dancing and laughing and loving in the face of hatred. baking too much and leaving the extra in the dorm kitchen. notes written in the margins of library books, passed around for years and years on. sticky note strangers. community is the butterfly clip the girl in a blue jacket gives you one cold winter day when the wind won’t stop blowing your curls in your face at recess.

#i am having a lot of feelings tonight #jac writes #writing #creative writing #queer #jac txt.

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we-are-inevitable · 1 year

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actually shut up. davey being an author and jack is his ex and they both know it was a right person wrong time kind of thing. they both knew they were losing each other too soon but how could they fix it? david needed his career to take off and jack needed life to slow down. david spent a lifetime stalling and jack spent a lifetime running and now david wants to go go go i need to go i need to do this i need to work need to be better need to be the best need to do this, jack, i need to do this, please support this, please. and all jack wants to do is slow down and stop and breathe and davey i cant, i need you here, you need to be here, please stay here stay with me i know you need to run with this but i need you to lay here for just another minute, please.

and they both pause. both understand. both know they need something different in life right now. david needs to experience a fast-paced world of publishing and writing a mile a minute with his ever-running mind, and jack needs to experience a slow-paced world of galleries and painting a stroke a day with hands that need a rest from always itching for more. and so they stop, they separate. they kiss one last time and wipe each other’s tears and suddenly their shared apartment is empty, so empty, leaving jack in the dust and davey in a rundown townhouse in brooklyn.

and here they are, ten years later: davey has that bestselling book series he spent so long on and jack has quite the following with his art and they’re both still hurting, still healing. as we know, creatives have their content ripped out of their chests whether they like it or not, sentences and brushstrokes, painstaking edits until the piece is exactly how they’ve imagined, how they were forced by their own minds to create it.

and give me jack, a tortured artist stereotype (he hates it he hates it why does he hate it), who wanders into a bookstore; he has some extra cash and he wants one of those nicer leatherbound sketchbooks that he knows they sell. he walks in and sees a face, davey’s face, his davey’s face, on a display of books, all brandishing the name David Jacobs at the bottom. so, he’s made it. good for him.

and give me jack, delicately picking up a book as though he may tarnish it, just as he feels he tarnished their relationship. and give me jack, opening up to the first page, and reading:

To J, for haunting my memories enough to keep me awake. Your apparition is the only reason this book is finished— what else was going to make me write until sunrise?

jack closes it. places it back down, picks up the sequel sitting right next to it.

To J, for being there when this started. Maybe you’ll see this when it’s finished. I don’t know. I still have a third book to write.

and maybe that spurs jack on. maybe he’s not J, but he rather wishes he was- he wishes david still thought of him, just like how jack has still been using david’s essence as painting inspiration all these years ago, just how he’s never been able to take another relationship seriously, just how he’s certain that he gave everything he had to david and has nothing left for anyone else.

he takes the plunge. he sends a letter. david’s third book is published later that year.

To J, for coming home. Writing this book with your head on my chest is the forever I’ve been dreaming of.

#fuck……. i have the brain worms bad about this #tortured creatives etc etc ….. yeah this is my favorite brand of javid #jack kelly #davey jacobs #david jacobs #newsies #jac txt.#livesies #javid #javey #newsies musical #newsies live #jac writes #author davey

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yellowkitkieran · 5 months

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To Have and to Heal (Part 15)

Masterlist

Read part 1 here

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: Single working dad Martin Odegaard is navigating the ups and downs of parenthood all on his own, and he’s struggling. That’s not to mention football, life and... love?

Could we talk?

When your message appears on his phone, Martin doesn't believe his eyes. At first he assumes he is dreaming; a quick pinch to his forearm and the subsequent brief burst of pain confirms he is, indeed, awake. He laughs to himself then, a giddy, overjoyed sound as he reads the message from you again and again, enough times that the words are burned into his eyelids when he closes them.

Rearranging his schedule to pick up Atla today had been worth it. Incurring Arteta's wrath for sneaking out early? Also very, very worth the reward. Even if nothing comes of it, even if you don't have the courage or wherewithal to send him a follow up response, Martin can live with that, as long as he has some closure.

His fingers shake as he types out a casual, cool, collected response. Of course! Now? Tomorrow? When are you thinking?

Nailed it, honestly. Not overly eager. Simple and to the point. Leaves nothing up to interpretation. Martin is still sweating bullets regardless.

For a few minutes, Martin simply stares at his phone until his eyes water and he is forced to blink some moisture into them. He tries not to fret when you don't immediately reply. It's late; there is a good chance you're either sleeping or prepping for your classes tomorrow. Despite his racing heart, sweating palms and pacing feet, Martin somehow convinces himself that he is perfectly calm. He's definitely not freaking out. Nope. He's fine. Toooootally fine.

Though that fragile construct comes crashing down when Martin's phone vibrates. Whenever you have an hour or so free? After school of course. I can come to you?

Absolutely. Friday? I'll be done at six. But I'll come to you though.

Martin immediately arranges for Kieran to take Atla overnight as a precaution. Who knows what might happen? Martin doesn't want to get his hopes up, but regardless of how things go, he knows he will be a volatile bucket of emotions and he'll need some time to process. He would rather do that on his own than have his daughter around to witness it. Good or bad, Friday will be… interesting, to say the least.

Friday at six thirty then. That works. I'll see you then

The expectation of hearing from you again is dashed when twenty four hours pass with nothing new. Martin's phone is far from quiet thanks to the Arsenal group chat, which thankfully keeps him busy and occupied on his day off whilst Atla is at school. Martin even arranges to pick Atla up himself, though he's disappointed to find another teacher in charge of after school care instead of you.

Tomorrow, he tells himself. Tomorrow is my second chance.

And Martin is completely, utterly, wholly determined to grab the opportunity with both hands and run with it. He refuses to squander his relationship with you a second time. He will say all the right things, fall over himself to make all the right promises, and follow through with each one of them. Because if Martin is being honest with himself, the last time he felt about someone like this… He married them.

On his way into Colney the next morning, Martin passes by Atla’s favorite bookshop. It is a quaint, family owned place located on a busy corner in north London. He glances at their window displays when he is stopped at the light, as he often does.

And Martin does a double take- the sign in the window promotes a new romance book, titled ‘Second Chances Only Come Once’, written by the author of the hit book ‘She’s the One’.

The grin plastered on Martin’s face is indicative enough. If he had been waiting for a sign, that would be it. The sky over London is a bright, vibrant orange, streaked through with rich reds and subtle yellows. The sunrise is the exact shade of Maria’s favorite paint- Windsor Orange, a color she claimed felt like home. Each Christmas Martin would buy her a year’s supply to ensure she didn’t run out.

“Thank you,” Martin murmurs to the sky. A light breeze ruffles his hair through the open car window, and the smile does not leave Martin’s face for the entire drive.

Kieran doesn't ask questions at training that morning- he's simply excited to spend some quality time with his goddaughter. Kieran does not question Martin’s good mood, not even when Martin convinces Arteta to go easy on the team and skip the half dozen extra drills he had scheduled and opt for an extra gym session instead.

Martin pays very little attention whilst Kieran rattles off a long list of things he's planned to entertain Atla, including a trip to Harrods to spoil her rotten. Normally that sort of thing would irk Martin, but today the thought barely registers.

“Uh huh, sounds great,” Martin murmurs noncommittally, “Perfect. Atla will love it.”

“Mate, you've not heard a word I've said. You're fine with me taking her on a shopping spree? You normally yell at me for that! What happened to ‘she's got enough toys,’ eh?” Kieran makes air quotes there, referring to the dozens of times Martin has argued that point. That, at least, causes Martin to pause.

“What? Oh- I mean sure if that's what you want to do with her I won't stop you, she'll enjoy it. Really she will-”

Kieran sets his weight down and rests his elbows on his knees. Everyone always says that blue eyes are unnerving, but Martin knows the truth- it's the unflinching, hard brown eyes that really do you in. Martin clears his throat, squirming under the pressure of Kieran's stare. “Tell me.”

“Tell you what? There's nothing to tell.” Martin scarcely believes himself as unconvincing as his words are. Kieran simply blinks, which somehow is even more unnerving than the original stare. Martin sighs, knowing his friend will not let up until he uncovers the truth. “Alright fine- I'm talking to solskin tonight. It's not a big deal!”

Kieran, knowing better than to pry, simply nods firmly. “Good. Maybe you'll quit moping around the grounds then. Honestly it's getting tiring, carrying this entire team on my shoulders. I cannae do it all on my own, you know.”

Martin cracks a grin, “I know mate. Hopefully after tomorrow I can take some of that pressure off you.”

*********

Martin, Martin, Martin. For nearly forty eight full hours, the Norwegian midfielder fills every corner of your brain. You're barely able to make it through your lessons, as distracted as you are by the thought of seeing him again. In a private setting. Alone. At your house.

Why did you agree to this again?

Friday evening, you frantically clean your already clean flat. You agonize over whether or not to leave the blanket slung over the sofa- is it too suggestive? Or is it just cosy? You wind up leaving it. You are fully aware that you are overthinking. That doesn’t stop you from rearranging the shoes in the entry three times until you’re positive they are just the right amount of messy.

Deciding on an outfit is nearly as chaotic- with Jen's help you settle on comfort over chic, opting for your favorite pair of jeans and a loose, warm sweater. Your hair you leave in your usual style, not putting too much effort in. This is not a date, as you have to continually remind yourself. It is simply a chat, nothing more.

Waiting is the hardest part. You sit on your sofa with a random show on for background noise, something about the history of the crown jewels. Should you have cooked? Six thirty is dinner time, ish- maybe he's expecting a meal? Oh god-

The doorbell interrupts your thoughts and you spring into action. You wipe your palms on your jeans before opening the front door, pasting a smile on your face that you pray appears genuine. Your eyes start at his feet- black and white Nike dunks, light wash jeans, and a black bomber style jacket- and end on his soft, angelic face. You quickly meet his eyes, lasting all of one second under the gentle scrutiny of his baby blues before heat floods your cheeks and you are forced to look away.

“Hey- hi Mr. Ødegaard, please come in.”

Martin's hands slide into his pockets, thumbs hooked into his belt loops. “I'm not coming in until you drop the formality, solskin.”

You swear your very soul responds to the nickname. It glides so easily off his tongue, as though no time has passed despite the cold shoulder you have given him. With one sentence, Martin crosses the chasm between the pair of you without a second thought, throwing you a lifeline to cling to whilst you try to wade through the sea of emotions that threatens to overwhelm your good sense.

“Okay,” you murmur, “Okay. Please come in, Martin.”

“Mar,” he corrects softly, tipping his head to meet your downcast eyes. “Please call me Mar.”

Only when you nod in agreement does he finally relent and enter. He bends to untie his shoes and hangs his jacket on the hook behind the door. There is a familiarity in his actions, like he has done this a hundred times instead of being able to count the number of occurrences on one hand.

“Um, please have a seat,” you say around the bile creeping up your throat. You haven't been this nervous since your first day teaching. It feels as if one wrong move will leech away the confidence you've spent ages rebuilding; brick by brick you've had to remind yourself that you deserve this. One step at a time.

“Thank you.” Martin makes himself comfortable on the sofa, one arm slung over the back. It strikes you then how well he fits in. Despite his undoubtedly expensive clothes, he does not seem out of place in a room filled with mostly second hand things. The cream of his shirt perfectly matches the blanket you worried over earlier. If you didn't know any better, you'd assume they were cut from the same cloth.

You clear your throat and carefully perch on the opposite side. You smooth the wrinkles from your sweater, suddenly self conscious of your appearance. Shit, you forgot to offer him a drink!

“Would you uh- would you like a drink? There's water, soda, uh… milk I think?”

Martin's smile is like a physical caress, calming your nerves. Whether he realizes it or not is uncertain, “I'm alright for now, thank you solskin. You wanted to talk?”

How is he so calm right now? How are you not calm? You're the one that asked for this. You prepared, didn't you? Spent hours on the phone with Jess last night, coming up with bullet points of what needed to be said. How have you suddenly forgotten it all?

“Solskin,” Martin prompts softly. “Hey? I'm perfectly okay sitting in silence but if you have something to say, I want to make sure you're heard.”

“Stop- just stop being so charming for two minutes,” you mumble. You press two fingers to your temples and try to get your ducks in a row. You requested to speak with Martin, yes. You wanted to discuss the potential of moving forward. You wanted to tell him you still care about him. Okay. Okay. Basics first.

You take a deep breath and straighten your spine. Cheating your body towards Martin's you begin, “I still care about you a lot. More than I should considering you're the parent of one of my students- don't do that,” you scold when Martin tips his head side to side. Martin grins, forcing you to fight to keep your mental train on the right track. “As I was saying, you're the parent to one of my students and I shouldn't even have asked to speak with you. I should've taken what happened as a sign from the universe, an easy way out but I just…”

“Can't let it end, yeah.” Martin finishes the thought on your behalf. You nod, grateful that he was able to voice it when you couldn't.

“Right. But I also know that your daughter has to come first, and I don't want to suggest otherwise. Atla loves you and you're all she has, I know she looks up to her papa. I know she doesn't want to see you with anyone other than her mum, and maybe she's just too young to understand, which means this was all just a waste of time and ishouldn'thaveinvitedyouanyway-”

Your words rush out in one long heap, piling over each other and overlapping at the ends. Tears prick your eyes and suddenly you feel so incredibly stupid for thinking this could work in any capacity. Martin reaches for your hand but you pull it away, unable to bear the thought of him touching you, knowing you'll only crumble.

“I want this to work Mar, I really do. But I can't ask you to choose between me and your family, it's not right. I don't want to sneak around either,” you add in haste when Martin opens his mouth. “I won't be the reason your daughter hates you. I won't tear apart your home. I just won't. I wouldn't be able to live with myself.”

Once he's positive you're finished, Martin cautiously scoots closer to you. He watches for any sign that you'll flee, and when you don't move a muscle he wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you to his chest. This time you allow it, because you know you'll never have this luxury again.

Martin's hand runs over your arm whilst he silently soothes you. Your nose is buried in his shoulder, his cologne imprinting itself in your memory. It baffles you how such a simple thing can bring you so much comfort. But slowly, like molasses dripping from a spile, you feel the coils of tension stored in your muscles unknot themselves. Slowly, you feel yourself winding down, your breath coming in even intervals instead of panicked gasps. Your hands, which had fisted themselves tight in the cotton of his shirt, unfurl to rest flat on his chest.

“That speech was quite noble solskin, but I think you've forgotten something.”

You sniffle, determined not to cry despite the battle raging within yourself. “What did I forget Mar?”

“That you're part of my home now,” Martin says into your hair. “If you're determined not to let anything ruin my home, you need to include yourself in that.”

Martin is terrible at articulating how he feels. You've grown used to it; you may not have dated for long but it only took a handful of dates to realize that his trauma ran deep, and that he played his cards close to his chest. So that display of warmth, of what he truly feels inside, is rarer than a diamond. You want to nestle it against your heart and keep it protected behind your ribcage. It is worth more than any precious gem.

Without thinking, you reach up and cradle Martin's jaw. You smile sadly when he presses his cheek into your hand, your thumb soothing a line under his eye. He's so beautiful- tender and raw and open. Vulnerable. A side you never expected him to share with you.

“I don't want you to put me before Atla,” you say softly, mindful of how fragile he is beneath your fingertips. You have to be gentle; if you're not he may never trust anyone again.

Martin covers your hand, fingers tight around yours. “And I don't want that either. I want you both on the same level. I-” Martin stops himself, his throat bobbing under the weight of words left unsaid. “I care about you so, so much. I just want you in my life. That’s all I want.”

“Then Alta needs to understand that I'm not replacing her mum. She needs to understand that before we even think about doing anything, Mar. You can't risk hurting the relationship you have with your daughter.”

“I know. I will. I'll get it all sorted and then it'll be fine- we can try again. Right?”

You nod then, your smile brighter this time. “Once she knows all that, we can try again.”

Martin's eyes flick to your mouth and you know you've both had the same thought. You want to kiss him, to climb into his lap and melt like chocolate on his tongue. You want to pull at his stupid chicken hair until he moans into your mouth, his sounds of delight so sickeningly sweet that your stomach will ache for days afterwards.

But you can't kiss him. So you don't. At least you have that much control. Instead you let Martin trace your parted lips with a reverence that makes your skin tingle. He moves on to your jaw, your cheeks, your nose, your brow- as if he were a blind man putting a face to a woman who until now has been no more than a voice to him.

“I have so much to say,” Martin says finally, “and there's not enough time to say any of it.”

“One day soon, you'll have plenty of time to tell me anything you want.” You allow yourself the luxury of his embrace, your arms winding around his solid middle whilst his fit firmly around your shoulders.

If you're lucky, this could be your reality. You could come home to Martin, or rather he could come home to you, and have his busy days be endcapped by love and devotion. You've always said you would never consider being a housewife, that you respect yourself far too much to allow yourself to be reduced to a servant to your significant other. But for Martin? You want him to eat a home cooked meal every night. You want to massage his shoulders when he makes an off-hand comment about being sore from training too hard. You want to put Atla to bed and then draw a warm bath for you and Martin to share.

You want to give Martin the world because he deserves it. You would wait on him hand and foot because you know with absolute certainty that he would do the exact same thing whenever he was afforded the chance. And that sort of fairytale is exactly what you've always wanted in life. You aren't about to let it slip through your fingers.

#martin ødegaard #martin odegaard #martin odegaard fanfiction #martin odegaard imagine #martin odegaard fanfic #martin odegaard fantasy #martin odegaard fic #arsenal fc #jac writes #alt timeline lover

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andshespokeinwhispers · 24 days

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hello reader…

just a little PSA.

sorry i silent there for a bit. i usually like to write when i have a little burst of inspiration since my poetry does come from my personal life experiences. i share because i feel as though someone may be going through the same and show them that you’re not alone.

poetry is subjective like art. it may be for some or none at all. to those who have read, i appreciate the likes and the reblogs. im very self aware of my poetry and get a little intimidated when i share here, even though i am anonymous, but poetry has always helped me express my feelings. it’s my way of therapy when its so hard to access therapy at this time. yes therapy is not cheap and i wish it was so that people can find positive outlets but poetry can be therapy for some. i know it is for me.

i hope that my words help you get through a rough patch. sometimes letting go and crying or even writing yourself is the best way to express your feelings.

- J.A.C <3

#poetry #original writing #poets on tumblr #hi im jac

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jack-kellys · 1 year

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do your absolute worst bestie

there is honestly one way to go about this and im very happy about it. like actually i did my Best.

send me some aus bc u get shit like this!

so naturally, the cruise ship is hell. and each floor of the ship, of course, is a circle of said hell. (whats funny abt this is now i get to send fucking newsies the musical characters to hell what the fuck)

no one remembers how they got there initially. racetrack wakes up in a room without his boyfriend but with his ex-girlfriend spot conlon on a bed across from him. jokingly he thinks this is hell but also. yes it is.

they argue for a straight two hours before they realize that something is not. right abt this. like they weren't a successful pair romantically in the end but they never spoke like that to each other. upon leaving the room the hallway is lined with doors within which other pairs are doing the exact same thing they just were- spot and race can hear other screaming matches through the whole hallway.

they find jack on a floor/circle filled with fear. jack cannot do anything except helplessly give into it every time, terrifying himself and repeatedly losing the one thing racer knows jack holds highest about himself- his pride. (of which probably earned his spot in hell to begin with.)

next floor/circle is the typical cruise ship for-some-reason waterpark. because ross dorrington (splasher @ uk newsies) has given splasher an origin of leaping into the docks' water to save a drowning kid, this is the guilt circle! splasher, tommy boy and gasp! davey?? is here??? why hadnt he been with jack?

(because it was hell to be away from each other.)

it continues down to the engine room which is dark and disorienting and sort of psionically damaging because it's me and this would actually be my second hell/demonic au LMFAO. but something is grating on their brains because they have headed in the wrong direction to get out. they get some answers down here– they have to find the Captain to try and leave. of whom is at the top.

the Captain is Snyder and he's determined personal reasons why they should all be in hell bc he hates these people since they've consistently denied their personal demons tbh when it comes to canon characterization:

jack overcomes his pride by protecting his friends ("vote no") and accepts the mistrust and anger pointed his way rather than getting defensive or denying the deal in the first place

davey overcomes his trepidation in getting involved in something bigger than his family and despite putting himself, his brother, and potentially his family in danger, he refuses to feel guilt for it bc he was doing the right thing

spot overcomes her pride when siding with manhattan after seeing the damage they'd taken without her borough to assist them

race overcomes his fear of striking as well as his mistrust of davey just bc of where davey comes from financially

tommy overcomes his fear and potential greed after being the last one to renounce his scabbing

splasher overcame his own fear also after renouncing his scabbing and also by hurling himself into the water to save someone else or basically die trying!

so we slot the above into modern au contexts and we've got a very angry youth detention center warden who is also spoiler alert the devil. im not sure how they get out though... part of me is like it'd be funny if they just beat him up but i think maybe they gain control of the ship itself and literally and metaphorically change its course. yeah. and then they're brought...back to the living. because idt a hell au means that they're dead, just that they got sent to hell. so they wake up in a hospital after breaking extremely high fevers (its hot as HELL in this fuckin ass, hot ass room im in...)!!

and that is a cruise ship hell au about taking charge of the things that are a part of you and changing the course of their meaning!!! a nautical adventure!!!!

#if shane madej wrote a novel it would be this #newsies #newsies aus #is this how jac felt writing a cohesive golf au......#racetrack higgins #spot conlon #jack kelly #davey jacobs #splasher newsies #bc i. love him and hes never done anything wrong #tommy boy #bc i love him and hed knock a mf out #newsies uk #uksies #fizz wants to write #fizz answers #fizz freaks #mutuals #I DID IT MF LMAOOOOO

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piedoesnotequalpi · 9 months

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ok for the au thing !! i got Western AU and Dark AU !!

Thank you for the ask! I got distracted talking to my partner!

Anyway a bunch of this is yoinked from a book series I never finished due to it being a bit too politically conservative for my tastes (specifically the book Nowhere to Run) and I also spent far too much time browsing Wikipedia for locations. Not sure if this is what is meant by "dark AU" but it's late at night so

TW for some mild gore and death

Carbon County (MT; there's also one in Wyoming) game warden Jack Kelly was reassigned to temporarily work in Granite County, MT and he's finally almost due to go back to his normal post in Red Lodge. He'd left it in good hands--the Stillwater County game warden (Finch) and county sheriff (Charlie) have most of his duties covered and give him near-daily updates. But he'd rather be back in Red Lodge, where he knows most of the people and their habits and can use his friendship with Katherine, the editor-in-chief of the local newspaper, as an excuse to stop by the office and flirt with one of the staff writers.

However! The week before he's supposed to leave, he starts getting reports of disappearances and campsites being attacked and mysteriously murdered wildlife in Lolo National Forest, so he very reluctantly goes in to investigate. He has a penchant for getting caught up in far more murder mysteries than any self-respecting game warden should, so he's resigned himself to dealing with this nonsense yet again. On the other hand, despite the looming threat of who (or what) ever's behind all this, it is kind of nice to be out camping in the woods.

Jack had made plans with Sean Conlon, the game warden from the neighboring county, to separately make their way through the national forest (both on horseback) and meet somewhere in the middle, with the goal of covering more ground and hopefully finding more information about whatever's going on. But he's struggling to get a hold of Sean, so he resigns himself to investigating alone--he hasn't run into anyone so far--even though part of him knows he should turn back.

The day he decides to turn around, he finally finds Sean, accompanied by a backpacker with a mischievous smile who won't give his real name.

"I've been looking for you everywhere," Sean says. "We have murders to prevent."

"I've been helping," the backpacker says. "We have murders to prevent."

Jack is skeptical of the backpacker, but he's annoyingly charming and Sean seems to trust him, so what else is he supposed to do? They start investigating together, and the backpacker, who still won't give them a name beyond "Racer" and won't say where he's from beyond the UP ("What's that? The Union Pacific?" it's the Upper Peninsula of Michigan but Jack and Sean haven't paid enough attention to Michigan to realize that), brings them to a campsite, where they find a whole bunch of dead elk and also the bodies of a couple of the people who have gone missing. There aren't a ton of clues, but it's the first new information they've gotten the whole time, so they're feeling a little better about the whole thing. Being game wardens, they're used to seeing dead animals, but the decomposing human bodies are a little (a lot) unsettling.

The problem is, when they try to signal the local authorities with the location of the campsite, their radios keep running into technical difficulties. Racer seems unbothered by the whole thing, weirdly, but they decide to note the coordinates as best they can, keep going, and see if they can find anything else.

The thing is, Jack and Sean have been feeling the effects of all this time outside--they're getting sunburnt, they have scrapes everywhere, and they're definitely going to need a shower when they get back. After they find the campsite, they start to notice that Racer is as pale and clean and un-scratched as he was when they first met. And now that they think of it, they haven't seen him eat or drink anything the whole time he's been traveling with them...

And now they're in the middle of nowhere together, with malfunctioning communication gear, and it's been a week since they entered the national forest, and they haven't encountered any other living humans during that time.

#the UP thing is directly from nowhere to run and as someone who knows exactly what the UP is i found it very funny #anyway dm me if you want to know where i got the inspiration for race from #since it's kind of a spoiler to one of the best plot twists i've ever read #newsies #newsies au #jack kelly #spot conlon #racetrack higgins #ask game #jac :)#my posts #hope you enjoy this! i forgot how hard it is to come up with stuff based on prompts but this was fun #i probably won't write it though since i'm not great at settings and have the bachelorette au to work on #also while i have been to that part of montana it was when i was about 7 years old #so i'm fuzzy on the details #my dad is actually from wyoming/idaho/montana but i haven't been back in a while and i miss it :(#asks #still through the leaves

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